


Every Which Way but Rick

by LadyDorian



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Incest, M/M, Robot Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3451229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDorian/pseuds/LadyDorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wanted to protect the boy. He needed to find an outlet for his perversions. And this was the best he could come up with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Which Way but Rick

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Rianko](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rianko/pseuds/Rianko) for the beta assistance.
> 
> Now with art by the amazing [futagogo](http://futagogo.tumblr.com/)!

**Every Which Way but Rick  
** ( _a.k.a. Too Legit to Rick)_

 

Rick Sanchez can think of a lot of phrases that describe him perfectly: Gifted inventor, genius scientist, hardcore substance abuser, unrepentant asshole, disgusting pervert—

_Disgusting pervert_. That’s the one that stays with him, turning over in his mind as he finishes tightening the last screw on the robot’s chest access panel.

“W-Well what the fuck am I—you got any—any other options?” he growls at the hunk of metal before chucking the screwdriver over his shoulder. He doesn’t care where it lands, figures it doesn’t matter anyway. Nothing in his room has a proper place; just a general area where items tend to gather. He lost an amnesia ray several months ago that he has yet to find. _Fuck it, I’ll just build another one_ , he thinks. A new invention for each of his whims.

Like this robot; it stands a little under five feet tall, its limbs and head shaped like a human’s, but with no discernible facial features, save for a circular mouth. The metal exterior is smooth and lustrous, a solid grey color, and dotted with thousands of tiny holes, projectors the size of a pinhead. As Rick takes a step back to admire his work, he notices an uncanny resemblance to a genderless crash test dummy or department store mannequin, only this version is better because—let’s face it—he’s Rick-fucking-Sanchez.

Rick fishes the flask out of his inside coat pocket and drains it in a single gulp. Shit, how much time had he spent working on this thing? He wishes he’d been drinking during most of it. He was too preoccupied with getting the holo-chips aligned properly and testing the circuit connections and keeping Morty out of his hair—

_Morty._ Rick laughs to himself at how naive Morty was to actually believe that he was helping his grandfather carry a Class-III Chess-Playing Combat Droid out of the garage and back to his room for “finishing touches.”

"H-H-How the fuck can you have a-a-a combat droid with—without any plasma cannons? Huh, Morty?" Just thinking of the kid's wide-eyed gaze, that stupid excited grin, makes Rick's throat burn. He rolls up his sleeve and squints through the dim glow of the ceiling light, trying to pinpoint which of his numerous watches tells Earth time. That one in the middle is showing a 2...or maybe a 4...He gives another quick glance before deciding it's too late to go raiding the liquor cabinet and risk waking the whole house. 

Rick begins to tear off the watches, simultaneously scanning the stacks of boxes and the spaces between furniture for a renegade bottle. He finds one on its side beneath the cot, grumbles when he picks it up and sees it's only about a quarter full, then chugs the rest before letting it fall to the carpet with a thud.

"Fuck it, leEEEUURRt's—let's fuckin' do this." Rick slides his finger into a crevice at the junction where the robot's head meets the neck. After a brief moment, he feels a click, followed by the familiar buzz of circuits coming to life.

A burst of red illuminates the metal face; pixels congregate into a coherent projection:

INITIALIZING...RUN PROGRAM?

Rick shrugs off his lab coat, tugs the shirt over his head next. Two kicks and his shoes are off, and he sits down on the cot to remove his socks. Fingers grasp at his belt, but he pauses, glances up at the glowing face. "Run program 'I love my grandkids.'" 

The light fades to black, and the robot signals its calculations with a series of baritone beeps before its entire body shines with the desired holographic simulation.

What stands in front of him now is the perfect likeness of his grandson.

_Disgusting pervert_. He wears it as an accomplishment, a shield against his guilt.

Rick finishes unbuckling his belt, quickly pries open the front of his pants and lets his fingers hover over the elastic of his underwear. _Not too fast...let's see what this bitch can do._

"Morty, you—you got too many clothes on. Take your shirt off."

With a blank expression and movements so fluid Rick swears he's got the real thing in front of him, the Morty simulation reaches for the hem of his shirt and drags his fingers upward. The yellow pixels move in sync, revealing pink flesh beneath. When the shirt reaches the crest of Morty's collarbone, it disappears completely, and the simulation is left standing there, bare from the waist up.

_Pretty damn good_ , Rick thinks, leaning back on the bed, parting his legs ever so slightly as he snakes a hand into his briefs. He runs his palm down his already stiff shaft, shivering at the barest touch. Long fingers pinch at foreskin, dip lower to tease his slit. _Shit_ , he's as wet as a bitch on prom night. Can he really be this depraved? Rick doesn't answer his own thoughts; he swirls his precome-slicked fingers around the head of his cock, urging the robot on between heavy breaths.

“G-Good. Now take—lose the—the pants, Morty. Just t-take it all off.”

Slowly, the holographic jeans begin to slip down, the dark blue fading to flesh-tint, reminding Rick of those mugs where the ladies' clothes would disappear as soon as you poured your coffee. He licks his chapped lips. This is one hell of a striptease. By the time the simulation is completely nude, Rick's already pulled out his cock and started lazily stroking it.

“Fffuck...”

Rick can't take his eyes off the sight in front of him. He's seen Morty naked enough times over the course of their adventures to know how accurate this depiction is. He wishes the simulation was more than a flat projection, thinks of how badly he wants to touch his grandson's dick, nuzzle his face in those coarse brown curls. He could have made the thing a thousand times better, given it soft skin, genitalia that would respond to his teasing fingers and tongue. But of course, that would be a lot harder to explain away if his family were to find it. The lock on his door was shoddy at best.

The nude Morty glows invitingly, blank eyes fixed on Rick's reclining form. Rick picks up the pace, stroking himself faster, turned on by the fantasy in his head. “Yeah...y-you love this, don't you, Morty? Love it how—when I—I put on a show for you.” He groans, reaching lower to squeeze his balls. “You—you get so hot just looking a-a-at my dick, don't you? Bet you think I-I-I'm some kind of slut, huh?” Fingers trail along the underside of his cock; he swirls the tips around the sticky head before bringing them to his lips. He even shoots a seductive glance at the damn thing as he licks the salty film from his skin. Fuck, he really is a sick old slut. But in this fantasy, so is his grandson. His lustful thoughts drown out any shame, any echo of how disgusting he must be to want this. He's too selfish to care, yet not selfish enough to risk the alternative.

His hand slinks back down, pausing to play with a nipple, to lightly tug at his pubic hair before once again settling around his cock. "You're the—the one, the little whore, aren't you MoUUEERGHty? Y-Y-You take one look at your grandpa's cock, a-and you can't get out of your clothes fast enough. You feel—should be so embarrassed, Morty, with your dick hanging out, just—just begging me to fuck you."

The robot responds well to his suggestions; a subtle blush darkens its face, and it lowers its gaze, as self-conscious as a virgin. Rick congratulates himself on the quality of his work, grinning and pumping himself faster. "Fuck, yeah. T-Talk to me, Morty. Tell me how bad you want to—need me to make you my—my bitch."

Morty opens his mouth to speak, his shy voice quivering. "W-W-Well, Rick...I-I-I-I..." But the words that come out are too digital, nowhere near a match for the sweet, blushing human face. It's about as sexy as an automated recording. And it nearly makes Rick go soft.

" _Shit!_ Deactivate voice chip!" He springs from the bed, crosses the room in two long strides and begins to tear through the piles of junk on the floor. He doesn't bother tucking his cock back into his pants, just keeps nudging it aside until he finds what he's looking for.

Screwdriver in hand, Rick turns back to his sexbot, silently rooted in the same spot, awaiting further instructions.  

"Hey, Morty, come 'ere." The machine stops just in front of him. With an aching groan, Rick sinks onto his knees, creaking joints reminding him of his age. He fishes for the switch beneath Morty's jaw, but stops just short of turning it off. _It's so warm._ The lights burn with the heat of real flesh, and Rick can't help but run his fingers along that warm, ivory neck. For a moment, he considers fixing the thing while it's on, wonders what his odds of being electrocuted are, of having his family find his corpse lying next to a sex robot, stiff in more ways than one. He doesn't think too hard before letting the screwdriver drop and wrapping both arms around the robot, caressing its back, the globes of its ass. Lips press against its chest, licking, sucking the area where the nipples should be. Rick kisses lower, tries to sink his teeth into the soft stomach...

But of course he can't. Because this isn't his Morty.

They scrape against the metal beneath the glowing lights, the illusion in his head screeching to a halt. The bumps and curves he was admiring not too long ago become hard and angular. Rick knows this will never be real, but that doesn't stop him from wanting it. He embraces the Morty-idol, buries his face in its chest and closes his eyes with a solemn exhale.

He can't quite pinpoint the moment he became attracted to his grandson. He'd been around other Ricks and Morties before, had never felt much more than indifference towards either. But, slowly, he began to notice things about his own Morty: The way his lips curled when he was upset, the blush across his knuckles whenever he handed him one of his tools, even the curve of his back beneath that ugly yellow shirt.

Rick didn't know when or why these feelings started, but they quickly progressed from a vanilla desire to kiss and undress his grandson to daily fantasies in which he'd pin the kid down and ram his cock into that tight little ass as he begged for more. Jacking off became boring, and it didn't seem worth the effort to flip through his trans-dimensional fuck-book for the odd booty call. He was afraid his resolve would crumble, that the alcohol would make him do something irreversible. Sure, he could have fucked other Morties, if only to satisfy his urges. But that might have become too complicated, involving human bodies and volatile emotions and the threat of more angry doppelgangers coming to fuck with his life.

Rick didn't need that, but he _wanted_ , spent all his life wanting and taking things that weren't rightfully his. This ridiculous kid who'd stuck around since the beginning, who'd been to hell and back with him, who'd threatened to leave so many times yet never disappeared when the morning came—he wanted him more than anything. It wouldn't have been hard; he had that amnesia ray, and a mind control device or two. But he'd always stopped short of following through. It wasn't like him to waffle, but he couldn't keep from obsessing over the outcome. How much damage could Morty's mind bear before it broke? Before  _he_ broke? Would one taste be enough for Rick? Or would this initiate a cruel pattern, growing more twisted with each cycle, until there was nothing left to take, nothing to repair?

He wanted to protect the boy. He needed to find an outlet for his perversions. And this was the best he could come up with.

_Fuck it. As usual._

Rick pulls himself to his feet, gripping the shoulders of the robot for support. There's a narrow gap of wall between two towers of boxes, and he eases his back against it as he slides off both his pants and underwear. A clammy hand grips the base of his cock; he meets the pixelated gaze of his creation, exhaling, "Lick m-my—lick my balls, Morty."

Morty kneels, fingers lightly pressing into Rick's hips, inching closer until Rick catches sight of that protruding tongue, tiny and pink. It's rough against his skin at first, and Rick tenses, sucking in his breath. A few seconds later and the lubrication system kicks in, the appendage now wet and slippery, sliding around in a steady back-and-forth rhythm.

" _Shit._ " It's too good. Rick grasps the back of its head, pulling it closer, its tongue lapping at the underside of his balls, drowning them in synthetic saliva. "Y-Yeah, that's fucking g-great, Morty." His voice comes out in a throaty, labored rasp, but he can't stop talking—refuses to deviate from the cheesy porn script in his head. “You—you like that—how that tastes, Morty?” He rubs his dripping cock across the warm face, leaving behind a smear of precome. “Why don't you suck my dick next, Morty? You'll l—it tastes even better than—”

Before he even finishes the sentence, Morty's mouth is on him, swallowing every inch, sucking him down with just the right amount of pressure. It's so hot and wet, and he's buried so deep...Rick's head lolls around, hits the wall with a muted thump. He's finding it hard to stand; his knees are shaking from the pleasure, the slow pumping around his length, the slip of the tongue around the head each time its mouth reaches the tip. Of the vast variety of orifices Rick's had the pleasure of sticking his cock inside, this has to be one of the best. Then again, it _was_ built by Rick-fucking-Sanchez.

[ ](http://67.media.tumblr.com/e68a8a0e8d28e5c5783563f7cf2ab007/tumblr_oarrl6Ed6T1ul26aso1_1280.jpg)

“F-F-Fuck,” he grunts, “suck it, you fuck—you little whore, M-Morty. So good—you fucking love this, don't you?” Rick wants more, wishes the voice chip was working so he could hear Morty choking, moaning around his dick as he tries to devour him.

“You—how long did—have you been dreaming about m—about sucking me off, Morty?” The only response is the wet slapping of the robot's tongue against his flesh. Rick is panting, afraid he might come just from all the dirty talk, from the squelching of his dick inside the machine's mouth.

It can milk him dry for all he cares. He'll even help it out.

“M-Morty...ahh...give me your—your hand, Morty.” The robot is so short in comparison, it's a stretch for him to reach far at all while still on his knees, and Rick finds he has to hunch over in order to wrap his lips around the fingers. His hand encircles the small wrist as he sucks two digits into his mouth. The taste of metal is harsh against his tongue, lingering after he's removed them, but he doesn't care; he's too absorbed in this charade. And he sure as hell isn't stopping now. He gives a quick spit into its palm, admires the glistening pool of saliva, before relaxing his grip and issuing the next command:

“H-Here, Morty—take your _aaaahh—_ ” Rick can barely fit the words in between moans, can't remember the last time he's felt this good, the last time he's had this much trouble controlling his voice. “—t-take this hand, and—and stick your fingers inside my ass, Morty.”

Rick closes his eyes as he feels the slippery hand glide between his thighs, relaxes his stance as it slithers beneath his balls, then further back until one of the fingers comes to rest against his hole. With a gentle push, it's inside, the dull burn a welcoming sensation. Rick exhales a groan and leans deeper into the wall, the surface cool against his shoulder blades.The android's digit begins sliding in and out at a much slower pace than the one at which it's sucking his dick. It's better than he could have hoped for, though the fingers aren't nearly long enough to reach his favorite spot. Of course, if he wanted something bigger than his grandson's, he would have just used his own.

“Good—that's good, Morty. Put another in, just—really slide 'em up there— _ahhhhhn—_ wriggle 'em around a—a bit.” The second stretches him further, really makes him moan. He has to clasp a hand over his mouth to stifle himself. _Fuck, this thing is amazing._ Rick wipes at the stray saliva dripping down his chin, wondering if he can work the whole fist inside before he comes. He's too close, though; he won't last much longer, not with the tongue twisting around his cock, the fingers spreading him open. He figures he may as well ride this bitch for all it's worth.

His hands grip the back of the robot's head, tugging at the illusion of hair. “FFFFFFuck, you're gonna make me come—y-you keep that up— _fuck,_ you want that, don't you? You f-filthy cunt, you—you can't wait to drink my jizz. Am I—isn't that right, Morty?”

“ _Oooooooh my god, Jesus FUCK, what the fuck, Rick?!”_

It takes him a moment to realize that something's amiss.

Busted voice chip aside, the robot wasn't programmed to form full sentences while simultaneously sucking dick. Rick cracks an eyelid, seconds before the other shoots open in complete disbelief.

Standing there with his back against the door is _his_ Morty, gaze fixed on the lookalike gobbling down his grandfather's cock. The expression on his face morphs from horrified to enraged and back again.

Rick isn't sure this is happening. He must be dreaming, probably passed out from the intense orgasm he was on the cusp of having. Dream or not, he figures he should say something, but the first thought that comes to mind is: “Christ, Morty! Y-You're gonna wake the whole house!”

_Shit_. The instant those words leave his lips, Rick knows he's fucked up. He can see the twitch in Morty's eyebrows, the clenched fists digging into the sides of his boxers as he storms over to where Rick is standing. Rick immediately enters damage control mode.

“I-I can explain, Morty.”

But Morty doesn't want an explanation. With an angry squeal, he slams his hands down on the robot's shoulders and pulls hard. The heavy lunk barely budges, but that doesn't stop Morty from trying, kicking at the carpet with his heels, the rage dribbling out of him in sniffles and whines. Rick had almost forgotten the thing had still been sucking and fingering him the whole time.

“End program,” he rasps. The lights quickly fade, and the android goes limp; Morty tears it from his body with the next tug, leaving Rick cringing at the sudden separation, the absence of digits inside him, the rush of cool air over his skin. He grabs at his various parts to make sure they're still intact. “Are—are you kidding me, Morty? You could have—”

“—Chess robot, huh?” Morty prods Rick's brilliant invention with a bare foot, not quite strong enough to move it from its comfortable heap on the floor beside him. He glares back up at Rick. “Y-Y-Y-You think I-I'm stupid, Rick?”

Rick isn't sure how he should answer. He isn't even sure if he should try to cover up his actions, or at the very least his own naked body. “M-Morty...” his breath is still trembling, pulse racing from earlier, “I-I-I-It's not what it looks like.”

“Well w-w-w-what—what is it, then?” He gets up on his tiptoes, trying to get as close to Rick's face as possible. He's still at least a foot too short, but Rick catches the heat of his words, and for once he feels intimidated. “I-I-Is this what—y-y-y-you wanna do this with—this kind of stuff to me? Huh, Rick?”

“What? Morty, I told you—” he hisses, holding a finger to his lips—the universal symbol for _Keep it the fuck down_. Morty slaps it away.

“Or—or—or is this just another thing you do to—to numb yourself?”

“I said it's not like that, Morty—”

“What, y-y-you couldn't find a-any other Morties to fuck?”

That's what sets Rick off. He puts his hand on Morty's chest and shoves; the kid stumbles backwards, trips over one of the robot's outstretched limbs, but is right back on his feet, meeting Rick's anger head-on. “It's none of—none of your business who I fuck, Morty. Maybe i-i-i-if—if you didn't bu—barge into people's rooms without knocking, you wouldn't see s-something you didn't like.”

“Don't you dare try t-t-to pin this on—on me, Rick! You—you think you can j-just do whatever you want? Just build some—some—some _Mortybot_ you can fuck, a-and—without even thinking t-t-to ask me first?”

_What?_ Rick isn't sure of what he's hearing. “Morty, what the hell—”

“Y-Y-You should have just asked m-m-me...” Morty mumbles, voice thick with tears. “J-Just _fucking_...”

He starts to fit the pieces together as he watches Morty drop to his knees, sees his hands hovering unsteadily over his hips, before finally taking hold. _Oh. Oh shit._ “M-Mor—Morty, what are you doing, Morty?”

“ _Shut up, Rick._ ” His breath dances across Rick's cock, hot and enticing. Rick can feel his body tensing, yet can't tear his eyes away as Morty presses his lips to the soft skin, plants a line of kisses along his semi-flaccid length.

_This is bad._ Rick can barely hear his own thoughts over the pounding in his chest. He tries to speak—a _What the fuck, Morty?_ or even just a simple _No—_ but all that comes out is a heady grunt, his senses overpowered by the electric touch of those moist lips on his cock, making him harder with each kiss.

And he can't stop it. Doesn't really want to stop it, though the fragments of his conscience urge him otherwise, have his nails feebly clawing at the wall behind him, as if he could tunnel his way out of this mess. It's impossible, of course—Rick's genius brain knows that—but he can't accept the alternative, can't stand feeling so helpless, watching in a daze as Morty pulls back and sticks out his tongue. The quick sweep across the head has his entire cock twitching, Morty tentatively flicking the tip again and again, like he's testing the waters, trying to get a taste for him.

Rick's fully erect again, and growing impatient. All his reasoning has fled to his dick, and right now it's telling him it wants more. The hot slide of Morty's tongue down the underside of his shaft, the curl of it beneath his balls, the gentle lapping at wrinkled flesh—it's all a fucking tease. He tears his palms from the wall, threads a sweaty, trembling hand through Morty's hair.

_Push him away! You can end this before…_

Rick silences his thoughts with a light pull on the kid's locks, tipping Morty's head back just enough so that he can gaze into his eyes. A whimper catches in Morty's throat, but he still clings to Rick's bony hips. The blush across his cheeks, the tiny pants that escape his mouth are far too much for Rick.

_To hell with it._ If he's going to succumb to temptation, he may as well enjoy it.

The other hand moves to encircle the base of his cock, steering it towards Morty's parted lips while drawing him forward. He's met with no resistance, Morty relaxing his jaw to allow the head to slip inside, seemingly content with letting Rick fill him to the point where he begins to choke. Rick eases his grip, runs his fingers through Morty's hair, enjoying the blissful warmth as the kid begins to work up a rhythm, a slow in-and-out that makes his toes curl. He cups Morty's face, traces a line to the back of his neck and tries his best not to force himself deeper, fights the urge to cram every inch inside. But his hips move of their own accord, rocking forward, pushing Morty to his limits. Though gagging and moaning, Morty doesn't try to pull away; he holds tighter, fingertips bruising the crest of Rick's hips, lips sealed around his cock, sucking harder, minding his teeth, though the occasional scrape sends a jolt of delicious pain down Rick's spine. It's far better than Rick ever imagined. It's almost as if Morty is determined to drive him over the edge.

And it's working. Rick is overwhelmed by so much moisture, by the whirlpool churning around his dick, the sweat dripping from every fold of skin, the way his hand slides against the nape of Morty's neck—he's practically swimming in all of it.

He can't control his breathing, can't keep silent any longer; the words that drip from his lips are weighted with lust, so heavy he thinks they might crush the boy below him. “Y-Y-You—you suck dick like a-a-a champ, Morty. Th-the hell you learn that?” It's the closest to a compliment he can muster, though it sounds angrier than intended. Rick can't be bothered to worry about misinterpretations; he's too focused on keeping his eyes open, enjoying the sight of this stupid kid blushing around his grandfather's cock.

Morty pulls back with enough force that Rick pops out of his mouth completely, leaving Rick acutely aware of how cold the room feels. Thankfully, Morty quickly wraps a hand around him, fingers tangling in unkempt curls as he begins to tug. “I've seen videos, Rick,” he sneers, catching Rick's gaze. “Y-Y-You know, on the _Internet_.”

Rick has half a mind to slap the sass out of the little bastard, but Morty's smooth hands are doing such a good job of playing with his cock, he figures it wouldn't hurt to let it slide just this once. Morty gives another firm stroke before placing moist lips to the underside and sucking the delicate flesh right above Rick's balls, earning a drawn-out groan from the older man.

“Y'know, Rick,” he begins, pulling back, thumb tracing circles where his lips had just been, teasing incessantly with a hesitant drag of foreskin, “I-I-I'm not s-some innocent l-l-little kid.”

Despite his shy stutter, Morty spits his words with such finality that Rick wonders how long he's thought of doing this. Of _them_ doing this. Rick's hands twitch, clasping and releasing the yellow material at his grandson's shoulders. He wants to do so much more, wants all of him _right now_. But Morty's moving achingly slowly, fingers slithering down the inside of Rick's thighs, exploring each inch at a snail's pace. He pouts his lips, barely touching the slick head of Rick's cock, so close Rick can almost feel their electrons repelling each other.

“I-I'm not as—as stupid a-as you think, Rick. I-I-I _know_ a—a few things.”

_Enough of this shit._ Rick's done playing putty in this brat's hands. He yanks hard, lifting Morty up by the collar of his shirt, pulling a whine from the kid as he angles his neck back to avoid colliding with Rick's forehead.

"Th-that so, Morty? Did you know I-I-I was gonna _fuck_ th-that th—robot? Ram my cock in it 'til—un-until it broke?" He tips his head to the thing on the floor, gives Morty a shake for emphasis. "Y-Your porn videos te—teach you that, _Morty_?"

He can sense Morty beginning to unravel beneath his glare; quivering lips seem like they want to speak, but can't form the words, eyes can't blink fast enough to hide the scared tears rising to the surface. His arms don't even try to push Rick away, feet swaying lifelessly against the taller man's legs. All of him just hangs there, and whatever point he had been trying to make with his show of bravado and feigned sexual experience is lost to Rick.

_Kid, you're too young to even try playing these games with me_.

"S-Something else you don't know, Morty," he hisses, watching Morty flinch at the alcohol-laden stench of his breath. "I got s-st-stamina, Morty. I could go at it all nigh—all morning."

The dejected look on his face tells Rick that his words have sunk in. Morty stares at the withered hands twisted in the fabric around his neck, his frown reflecting the nervous apprehension that Rick knows far too well. Yet for all his awkwardness and timidity, Morty still manages to surprise him sometimes, making him question all he's come to expect whenever those narrowed eyes hold his gaze, burning with boldness and determination. And Rick is nowhere near prepared for what the brat spits out next.

"Prove it."

"The fuck did you just say?" Rick's hands clench tighter, but Morty isn't deterred, doesn't let the choking pressure silence him.

"I-I-I'm callin' y-your bluff, Rick. Y-Y-You—usually by now, you'd be p-passed out i-in—in a puddle of drool and—and whiskey in th-the middle of m-m-my room."

At that moment, Rick isn't sure if he wants to throttle the kid or fuck him senseless, thinks he might have to do both. There's no denying how turned on this irritating little game is making him, rubbing him just the right way, cock bobbing excitedly against the hem of Morty's shirt—rough and enticing.

"Y-You wanna test me, Morty?" He growls, teeth bared in a show of dominance, for whatever the fuck that's worth. "I-I don't—don't care who or what it is, but I-I'm fucking the life o-out of _something_ before breakfast. It—it could be a-a-a sexbot, or—" Here he pauses to lick his lips, turning the words and thoughts over in his head. "You want me to—to do that to you i-instead, Morty?"

Morty barely blushes at the suggestion, falters only briefly as he replies, "I-If I-I-I _didn't_ , then why would I h-have sucked your—"

Rick doesn't need to hear anymore. He leans forward and clamps their mouths together, saving Morty the embarrassment of saying something even stupider. Morty is thrown by the abrupt kiss, moans meekly as Rick's tongue slides across the back of his teeth. Only when Rick tries to break away does Morty push back, mouth open, lips warm and wet and quickly becoming accustomed to his own. Though once lethargic, his hands now scrabble at Rick's chest, seeking purchase, trying to pull them closer. He grasps a pec, scratches against a nipple, grazes sparse chest hair, but his clumsy fingers make little progress. Rick helps by looping an arm around Morty's waist, nails pressing into the nubile flesh of his grandson's ass as their bodies collide.

There's no space between them now, no walls to demolish. The only thing falling to pieces is Morty, grunting and gasping through his nose, grinding his hips against Rick without a hint of shame. The hardness of his cock digs into Rick's abdomen, the cotton boxers soaked with sweat or precome or a mixture of both.

Morty tastes sickeningly sweet against his tongue, like candy and innocence, each sip settling in a lump in the pit of his stomach. But Rick refuses to stop, doesn't care if they both suffocate. His hands eagerly knead Morty's ass, sucking down each stupid noise that rises to his lips, feeding off the arousal he's caused. It builds up inside him, a pool of groans and filthy phrases rumbling deep in his throat, far below the tangle of tongues, fueled by every new sensation, each sick, sexy moment he shares with his grandson. They're becoming more depraved by the second, Morty now gliding his fingers down the curve of Rick's spine, resting them just above the crack of his ass, just barely slipping down...

Rick can't contain his wantonness; he lets a moan slide past his lips, but ends up accidentally burping into Morty's mouth. Not exactly an odd occurrence for him.

Morty doesn't take it as well. He twists his head to the side, causing Rick's still-moving tongue to skid across his cheek. “Aww, gross, Rick! Geez, c'mon!”

Rick relaxes his grip, the t-shirt riding up as Morty sinks down onto his feet, bare skin of their stomachs pressed together. His fingertips trace light circles against the small of Morty's back, desperately trying to keep his cool, wanting nothing more than to tear him apart with teeth and nails, to fuck him to pieces just so he can put him back together again. For fun. For the hell of it. "Y-You wanna put the brakes on this, Morty, you better do it now," he rasps, watching a repulsed Morty wipe the saliva off of his face. "Be-because we—we're coming up o-on the point of—of no return."

For all his selfish perversion, Rick keeps giving the kid options, doesn't want him to just give in to his grandfather's whims. Not this time. What they're doing goes beyond science and adventure, taps into their roots, their basest instincts. It's a sickness, a disease passed between them in the mixture of breath, the warmth of skin, the stretching and splitting of bodies. And only Morty can stop the spread, because Rick is too far gone.

But Morty is defiant, if anything. He swallows Rick's leaden gasps, reaches up to caress his face with those too-small fingers, lips pursed as he stands on tiptoes, trying to bridge the ever-present gap caused by their differing heights. Morty closes his eyes while leaning in, and Rick chokes back a laugh at how fucking virginal he looks, though he pities his ineptness, dips his head down to catch his lips. The kiss is too soft, too innocent, but he humors Morty, lets him ease his mouth open, his tongue fishing the depths of Rick, licking across teeth, the inside of his cheek. Rick sighs, growing bored with this childish dance, relieved when Morty's legs start to tire and he breaks away, falls back on his heels below him. Blushing, Morty quickly tears his hands from Rick's face, rubs at the corner of his mouth with his knuckles and looks up to gauge his reaction, brows knit in uncertainty, as if he wants to be reassured he's done well.

“Shit, Morty. Y-You kiss li-like—like a fucking _wuss_.”

That comment nets Rick an embarrassed pout. “W-W-Well, it—it's not l-l-like I-I-I—”

The words are muffled, lost in the shuffle of fabric as Rick tugs the shirt over his head; they dissolve completely once he bends and presses his lips to Morty's throat, hands skimming the flesh at the boy's sides. Soft pants and whimpers are all Rick wants to hear. They've wasted far too much time talking things over, each syllable vibrating deep within him, coursing straight to his groin, an aching reminder of the needy throb between his legs. Rick isn't used to taking things this slow, but it's _Morty_ he's kissing now, _Morty_ whose nails are digging into his shoulders, _Morty_ who'll be crying beneath him as his cock slides in and out…

The rules are somewhat different, though Rick is sure he'll find a way to unconsciously break them.

His kisses become rougher as he kneels, works his way to Morty's chest, sucking and nipping with teeth, longing to bruise. Morty wraps his arms around Rick's neck, arches his body when Rick's tongue flicks across a nipple, releases a long whine as lips close around it and suck. By the time Rick begins rolling the nub between his teeth, Morty's lost it completely, knees shaking, weight bearing down on Rick's shoulders, mumbling an attempt at his name but unable to get past the first letter. Rick thumbs the other nipple, feels Morty's skin prickling everywhere he touches, a trail of goosebumps following his fingers as they trace the curves of ribs, hip bones, finally settling flat against his lower back.

Rick wants more, needs to taste every inch of Morty. His muscles ache from crouching; the boy is so goddamn tiny, Rick actually has to settle onto his ass for better access, slipping his long legs between the shorter pair. He presses sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to Morty's stomach, gazes up as he sinks his teeth into the barest amount of baby fat. Morty is watching him intently, face flushed, sucking on his lower lip to keep his voice down. Rick thinks he's picked a fine time to become bashful; Morty's cocky attitude had been such a turn on, Rick was hoping he would follow through to the end. But his hands are just resting awkwardly on Rick's shoulders, not even trying to push him lower or guiding him towards the places he wants to be touched. At the very least, he could tell Rick how he likes it. It's almost as if Morty is unaware there's etiquette to getting your dick sucked.

Well, at least that part of Morty knows what it wants, prodding Rick's chin through his boxers. Rick places his lips to the damp cloth, nibbles at the bulge, pleased with the way Morty shivers and sucks in his breath. He smirks up at him. "Fuck, Morty. You're—you gonna cream be-before I've—I even touch your dick?" And he mutters a quick _Perv_ under his breath.

Morty groans through clenched teeth, struggling to keep his eyes from slipping shut as Rick's mouth continues to tease him through his underwear.

"Did you—" Rick laughs, a short huff that causes the cock beneath his lips to twitch, "—did you get like th—this horny j-just from giving me head?"

"F-Fuck you, R-R-Rick…" It comes out as a whisper, sounding so clumsy and pathetic, Rick can't help but chuckle.  

"Not right now, baby," he murmurs, hooking his fingers under the waistband of Morty's boxers, slowly peeling them off. "I got—got other plans a-at the moment."

Morty exhales a strangled noise as his cock springs into the open, shorts sliding down around his ankles; he leans on Rick for support while he shuffles out of them. He's dripping wet, and Rick smiles deviously, briefly considers teasing Morty with his words again, but opts to use his tongue instead. He leans closer, licks lightly with just the very tip, a straight line along the underside of his shaft.

Morty whimpers Rick's name, and something that sounds like _please_ , though it barely makes it out between gasps. He jerks his hips forward, wanting more, _needing_ more than just the tempting brush of Rick's tongue.

_Greedy slut. You're dying for me to suck you off._

Rick is happy to oblige; he takes Morty's cock in his hand, brings the head to his lips and wraps them around the tip, sucking gently, as if he's trying to coax out every last drop. He eases more into his mouth, ears filling with Morty's cries each time his tongue swirls around the slit. For his part, Morty is starting to get the hang of things, grabbing fistfuls of Rick's hair, pulling until he's filled his mouth completely.

_Yeah, you love that, you little whore._

But it's Rick who's the whore, groaning and drooling all over his grandson's dick, sucking him roughly now, ravenously, delighted in the slap of Morty's balls against his chin, the scrape of pubic hair against his nose. He runs his hands up Morty's legs, slips one between his thighs to fondle his balls, Morty's moans growing louder with each squeeze.

It's almost _too_ loud. And though Rick loves making Morty whine like a horny bitch, he doesn't feel much like building another amnesia ray anytime soon. He slows his pumping around Morty's cock, snakes a hand up, feeling around for that gaping mouth, dripping with lusty sobs. Two fingers slide over moist lips, stroke against a steaming tongue, and Morty responds by sucking, scratching his nails over the bald spot on Rick's head. Rick remembers how those lips had been wrapped around his dick not too long ago, sucking him just as eagerly. He wants to mark this boy so badly—from outside, inside, every which way.

Rick withdraws his fingers, squeezes his hand between Morty's legs, beneath the one still massaging his balls, until it finds the tiny pucker he'd so often abused by convincing the kid to smuggle various contraband inside it. It's soft and tight, and he circles it with a damp finger, feeling Morty's tension begin to calm, his grip on Rick's head loosening. Slowly, he presses in, only gets up to the first joint before Morty clenches around him, gasping in pain.

" _A-A-Aaahh..._ hurts, Rick…"

The saliva on his fingers has almost completely evaporated; Rick pulls out of Morty's ass, pries himself away from his cock, though Morty clings tight, doesn't want to let go.

"Wait, wait—don't move, Morty. I-I'll—let me grab s-something." Rick is almost afraid to turn his back, fearful that Morty will disappear like this had all been some wonderful dream.

He crawls around, finds his coat balled up against the wall nearby, and though his hands are shaking, he knows exactly which pocket he wants. He'd been keeping a bottle of lube in his lab coat for as long as he could remember, mostly for scientific purposes—greasing machinery, concealing sacks of other-dimensional drugs inside his rectum—sometimes for sex. Not all of the aliens he'd fucked had self-lubricating orifices. He can't remember half of their names, or what species they were, but he doesn't really care, is too focused on drizzling the sticky liquid all over his fingers, thinking only of how hard he's going to make Morty come.

When he turns, Morty is still there, swaying slightly on his feet, eyelids heavy with sleep and the need for release. He lurches forward, steadies himself with a hand on Rick's shoulder, the other encircling his shaft, pointing it towards Rick. His lips fumble, mouthing something akin to actual words, but all that comes out is a cracked moan. But Rick doesn't need any direction; he takes Morty's cock into his mouth, sucking slow and rhythmically while his newly-slicked fingers settle back between his cheeks. His other hand squeezes Morty's hip, keeps him from squirming as he resumes teasing circles around the rim with the tip of his middle finger, the slippery entrance yielding to the soft pressure. Morty draws in his breath as Rick sinks inside, sliding, sliding, pausing only once he's in up to the knuckle, allowing Morty to grow accustomed to the sensation.

He's hot and tight around Rick's digit, gripping him like there's no tomorrow, and Rick is enticed, eager to feel that warmth enveloping his dick. He begins pumping in and out, stroking Morty's soft walls, finger twirling in tight circles deep inside him.

Morty is clutching the back of his head so fiercely, Rick can barely move without a struggle, just rests for a moment with his face flush against Morty's crotch, cock still buried inside his mouth, lapping at the underside with his tongue. Every inch of Morty is trembling now, so close to coming as Rick drives his finger deeper, draws it out and adds a second, feels his own cock twitch at the noise that tears from Morty's throat. He drags them out leisurely, before sharply thrusting back in, Morty speckling the air with _Ahs_ and grunts each time he hits home. Rick tests Morty's limits, cautiously spreading his fingers, curious as to how far he can open him, how much Morty will let him get away with. Morty tightens almost instantly, clamping down around him and tugging at Rick's hair, trying to shove him away. He allows Morty's cock to slip out, but keeps his fingers locked inside, curling them, each mewl and gasp drawn from the boy's lips a testament to Rick's prowess.

" _Fuck..._ " He speaks with lips pressed to Morty's damp shaft, unaware that his thoughts are spilling over into words. "Gonna get you so wound up, get—get you wet a-and ready for my cock." Rick rakes his teeth across Morty's balls, tips his head back and sucks them into his mouth, tugging at his cock with his free hand. It's only a matter of seconds before Morty is tipping over the edge, done in by the bony fingers caressing his insides, the vigorous stroking, the tongue sliding around his sack.

" _Ohh god…R-R-Rick…coming…I-I-I'm gonna come…_ "

Rick pulls back, holding Morty's cock just inches from his lips, their gazes locking as he opens wide. A few sharp tugs and Morty squints, digs his nails into the skin behind Rick's ears and comes into his mouth, whimpering, watching with sagging lids as Rick squeezes out the last few spurts. He rolls the thick cream around on his tongue, savoring the salty taste before swallowing, flashing Morty a sly smile. To top it off, he licks his lips slowly, seductively, humming a low _Mmmmmmmm_ as he stares into Morty's glossy eyes, twists his fingers inside him once more, enjoying the lingering spasms of the teen's orgasm.

"Ohgodohgodohgod…oh _fuck_ , Rick…" Morty's knees buckle, arms going limp, and Rick slips his fingers out just in time to catch him as he falls, to keep the both of them from tumbling over. He hangs lifelessly over Rick's shoulders, breathing slowing to near silence, heart thumping dully against Rick's chest. Rick lets him rest for a moment, rubbing the clammy flesh at his back, pressing soft kisses to his neck, a fitting distraction for what he has planned next. His legs are half-numb, stinging, and he growls as he climbs to his feet, lifting Morty by the ass and carrying him to the bed. Once he reaches it, he lets the dead weight fall from his arms, hears the muffled cry, the squeal of springs as Morty hits the mattress, dissipating far behind him.

He's already crossed the room, quick to locate the bottle of lube, the plastic cool against his palm as he pops the lid, feels the gravity of the situation catching up with him, spreading like the liquid over his cock.

_You're going to fuck your own grandson._

The words echo with each heartbeat, his common sense fighting for recognition. Rick glances over his shoulder, back at the tantalizing image of Morty sprawled out on his stomach atop the cot. His arms are buried beneath Rick's pillow, chin resting comfortably on the cushion, staring dazedly ahead. Rick's eyes trace the outline of his body, from the mussed hair, to the smooth shoulders and round, supple ass, down to the curve of his calves, the tips of his toes. His mouth is dry, blood racing, and that voice in his head is long gone.

Rick is going to get what Rick wants.

He's snapped out of his stupor by the sputter of the bottle, looks back to see that he's emptied the whole damn thing. Rick curses under his breath, a deluge of lube swallowing his dick, trickling down his balls, clinging to the hair between his legs. Behind him, Morty breathes a confused hum, and Rick chucks the bottle off somewhere, hurries to the bed before his nerves can cause another embarrassing mishap. He's too old for this awkward kiddie shit.

He nudges Morty's legs aside with his knee, allowing enough space for him to sit. Morty hardly moves, murmurs softly at the press of Rick's hands on his shoulders, the fingers trailing down his sides, cupping his ass. Only when Rick leans over and kisses the dimple where his ass meets his lower back, does Morty openly moan, arching into the touch. And when Rick's thumbs pry his cheeks apart, his tongue slipping into the crack, sliding down to lap at his hole, Morty's entire body convulses, and he gasps into the pillow.

He's hypersensitive now; Rick's made him this way, _loves_ knowing that he's made him this way. He licks along the rim, up and outward to the curve of his left cheek. When he reaches the roundest part, he opens his mouth, sinks his teeth in and bites. _Hard_.

"Ow, _owwww_ , Rick! That hurts, geez!"

Rick digs his hand under Morty's hip, flips him roughly onto his back. The cot sags in the middle as Rick pushes the boy's thighs apart, kneels between them, leaning over to grip his chin. "You—your ass is gonna hurt a-a-a lot worse than that, Morty." He brings his face close, stares down into the innocent eyes he intends to taint, and breathes, more for his reassurance than Morty's, "Th-think you can handle it, Morty?"

_Last chance, kid. Please._

But Morty smiles warmly, actually looks happy beneath the blush overwhelming his face. "I-It's OK, Rick. I-I-I-I mean, I-I've had worse th-things i-i-in my a—my butt."

"Heh." Rick can't keep himself from grinning, and tousles Morty's hair playfully. "You little bastard." He sits back, hands slick against the inside of Morty's thighs, spreading him and lifting his hips to nuzzle his cock against his entrance. He's not even inside yet, and already Rick can feel the heat, the sweet tightness about to envelop him. He licks his lips, begins pushing.

"W-Wait, wait, Rick!"

Morty scoots backwards, causing Rick's dick to miss its mark and slide against his thigh. Though he had been rather generous with his patience earlier, Rick is now becoming annoyed. "Wh-what is it? What—what's the problem, Morty?"

"W-W-Well…" He props himself up on his elbows, lips flubbing the words. "I-I-I me-mean…Are—aren't you g-g-gonna use a-a-a condom?"

" _Psssh_ , not like you're gonna get pregnant, Morty." Rick hugs Morty's leg to his chest, tries to reposition his cock, but Morty continues to squirm. "Fuck, _Morty_! What the hell?"

"Really, Rick, I-I mean, wh-what about STDs a-a-and stuff?"

"What, are—are—are you saying I'm dirty, Morty? Th-that I-I'm some filthy skank who f—sleeps around?" Rick yanks him back towards him, hears Morty's huff as his arms give out and his head hits the mattress. "Y-You think I—that I've got th-the Space Clap or—or something, Morty?" That's not far from the truth; well, he'd had it _once_ , but it was nothing for a genius like himself to cure.

"Geez, alright…" Morty grumbles. "J-Just _do it_ already. S-Sorry I even asked." And he doesn't wait for Rick to do it, but lifts his hips himself, feet pressed to Rick's shoulders, giving Rick quite the view. But Rick can't look for long, is too eager to get inside. He edges forward, hand guiding his cock, holding Morty's leg with the other. He's still drenched with lube, but Morty is so tense, it takes a fair amount of pressure until Rick manages to slide the head through.

“ _Christ_...” Rick can't breathe, can hardly find the words to describe just how amazing Morty feels, so he groans instead, a deep vibration in the back of his throat. He gazes down, sees Morty's face twisted into a grimace, chest heaving as he quietly mouths _I'm ok I'm ok I'm ok_. He's struggling with the pain, muscles contracting in his neck, his shoulders, ass clenching around Rick's cock, but Rick isn't about to wait, pushes in slowly, making him shudder and whine as he's stretched near to breaking. Inch by inch, he opens Morty up, the moist warmth engulfing him, drawing him in, until his entire length is buried.

“Shit, you're s-so tight, M-Morty.” Rick can almost feel the words dripping out; he wipes at his mouth, but it's abnormally dry, not even a hint of spittle sticking to his lips. He leans forward, feels the kiss of Morty's balls against his stomach, keeps sinking down, presses against his semi-soft cock, brings their chests flush together. His hands fist the sheets on either side of Morty's head, fabric rough between his fingers, scratching at his forearms as he settles on them, held high enough so Morty can see his smirk, close enough so he can feel his heartbeat. “You—y'gotta—gotta loosen up, already.”

"I-I-I'm not… _ahh_...y-you're so… _ahhh_ …bigger…" His voice is hoarse, cracking, but no less of a turn-on for Rick, each little squeak and sigh making his dick throb.

Rick brings their foreheads together, exhales against Morty's quivering lips, "You—you gonna cry like—like a bitch now, Morty?" Part of him hopes the answer is Yes; he wants Morty to feel every possible sensation, make him remember that it was Rick who gave him such pain and ecstasy. He swipes his tongue across those swollen lips, dips into Morty's mouth, drinking in shallow sips.

Morty clicks his teeth shut, nearly clips the tip of Rick's tongue. He twists his head to the side, tries to hide his face, but Rick sees how red he is, hears the humiliation in his tone as he pleads, "Puh—please j-just _move_ , Rick," snaking his arms beneath Rick's to grasp at his back, his legs wrapped loosely around Rick's waist.

Rick begins by rolling his hips slowly, face nuzzling the side of Morty's head, inhaling the scent of sweat and shampoo tangled in the kid's hair. Even at such a gentle pace, it feels so good, Morty so smooth and warm around him, and Rick falls into the rhythm like it's second nature, like he's been fucking him outside of his fantasies from the very start. With each restrained plunge, Rick's breathing starts to break down, deteriorating into a smattering of grunts and heavy pants against Morty's skin.

And Morty—Morty 's enjoying it now, gasping Rick's name over and over, nails sinking into his shoulder blades, legs clamped tightly around his hips, meeting him thrust for thrust. Rick is encouraged, lays his full weight on Morty and fucks him deeper into the mattress, the entire frame rattling from the force, papers fluttering on the wall beside them. Morty's cock swells against his stomach, and Rick digs a hand under his back, presses their bodies closer to increase the friction. He's losing himself, moving roughly, erratically, consumed by his desire for this stupid boy.  In the assortment of noises beneath him, Rick thinks he hears a giggle.

He slows his hips, parted lips ghosting along Morty's jaw, sucking lightly at the corner of his mouth. "W-What is it?"

Morty hums, and Rick can feel the vibrations throughout his body, teasing too-sensitive flesh. He pulls back, is met with the same warm smile as before. "I-I—it's just—it tickles. Y-Your chest hair."

Rick traces the grin with his thumb, gently pushes the lips apart, and is rewarded when Morty closes his eyes and breathes a lusty moan. In that moment, Rick knows Morty is his. He kisses him hard, sucking out air and saliva, catches his teeth on Morty's bottom lip and drags it down, releases it with a _pop_. From there, he moves lower, nips at Morty's throat, the delicate creases of his neck, pressing deeper with the occasional bite. Morty mumbles something, but it's unimportant, isn't enough to keep Rick from bruising skin, gripping Morty's hair to tug his head to the side, revealing more space for Rick to claim as his own. He figures Morty can just blame it on some girl, thinks his parents might appreciate that anyway. Either way, Rick doesn't care, silencing Morty's complaints with several keen thrusts. He licks the edge of Morty's ear, growls over the kid's whimpers, "Y-Yeah, th-that's good, Morty. You like my—my wrinkled old dick in-inside you?" His hips move in circles. "Like—like the way my saggy nuts smack your ass? That—that get you hot, Morty?"

" _Ahh…sh-shut up..._ "

Rick pushes deeper, harder. "How's that— _ahhhn_ —how's it feel, Morty? Huh? T-Tell me how bad you—you want it."

But Morty only moans, a dull _NNNN_ forced through teeth. Rick's fingers close around his throat, squeeze with just the right amount of pressure to alarm Morty. He goes limp as Rick pushes himself upright, glaring back down with a stern, one-word warning: " _Morty._ "

Both hands clutch at the wrist pinning his neck, but Morty doesn't struggle, knows Rick is too strong anyway. He grips weakly, croaks, "Y-Y-You want me to—to t-t-talk dirty to you? T-T-To m-moan and c-c-cry 'P-Please, Rick, ha-harder, faster,' li-like I-I'm—I'm your bitch? Do—do you g-get off o-on that?"

Rick smirks. He likes where this is going already.

"We-well I'm—I'm not d-d-doing that, Rick. I'm not gonna—not gonna humiliate my-myself for you."

" _Heh._ " He huffs, the barest hint of a laugh. "You know, M-Morty, maybe that gets—does get me off." He relaxes his grip on Morty's throat, and almost instantly Morty drops his arms to his sides, breathes a sigh of relief, misguided as it may be. Seconds later, that same hand moves to pin Morty's hip down while the other grabs his ankle, raises his leg as Rick slides out—slowly, _slowly_ —until only the head remains inside. The sudden absence of Morty's warmth is jarring, but Rick can manage, knows it'll pay out in the end. "A-And maybe you're not gonna get off un-until—until you play along."

Already, Rick can feel Morty's muscles contracting in a futile attempt to suck him back inside. But he doesn't budge, simply grins and gazes at the helpless, frustrated brat. "Nice view," he huffs. "Too—too bad y-you can't see it, Morty."

Morty sucks in his lip, brows twitching, quietly trying to hide his desperation. He does well up until Rick begins tormenting him with shallow, circular movements, never slipping further than the head. At that point, his resistance breaks, and he whines a pathetic "Come on, Rick...", squirming and kicking feebly at Rick's side with his free leg, his cock bouncing against his stomach.

"You gonna start talking, Morty?" Rick wraps a slick fist around Morty's cock, squeezes the base firmly as he continues teasing.

The kid is too damn stubborn, too damn stupid, Rick thinks, watching him cry a shaky _No_ , his hands reaching for his dick, urging Rick to move. Rick flicks off the pathetic grip, clamps his hand around both of Morty's wrists and pins them to his crotch, holding so tightly that all Morty can do is tap against his junk with his fingers. Completely at Rick's mercy, he starts thrashing his shoulders, head slamming into the pillow again and again as he pleads with wordless moans and tears. The sight alone would be enough to sway most people, but unfortunately for Morty, Rick isn't most people.

"See, Morty, I already know what—what _I_ want." He growls and tightens his grip, hopes it's hard enough to bruise, that the marks will teach Morty a lesson. "I wanna fuck you raw, Morty, m-make you feel it for a week, feel it i-i-in—every time you take a-a-a step. That's what _I_ want, Morty. T-Tell me what _you_ want."

Morty isn't speaking, at least not anything decipherable; his head is tilted back, eyes shut, tongue protruding between white teeth, a pool of odd sounds and gurgles rumbling in his throat. Rick isn't about to stop, is determined to break him. He speaks loud enough to be heard over the incessant moans, hips moving ever slower. "All those—those things y-you saw in your videos, Morty, I wanna do the worst—th-the filthiest of them t-to you."

" _Nnnn…_ R-R-Rick…"

"I wanna tie you up, jack off a-a-a-all over that pretty face of yours."

" _FFFF_ … _ahhhhnn_ …"

"Stick all kinds of—of toys inside you, a-and watch you get yourself off."

" _Mmmhh_ …p-p-please…"

"I want—wanna ride your little prick 'til you explode, and—and then make you lick the come o-out of my ass afterwards."

With that, Rick's gentle teasing stops, and he slams his hips forward, Morty nearly screaming from the sudden impact. “That what you want, Morty? Huh?” He's close to shouting, doesn't give a fuck who hears. “ _Tell me what you want!_ ”

“ _Oh god Rick just fuck me, please fuck me, I want it so bad just make me come, pleaseplease..._ ” Morty spits it all out in one breath, without so much as a stutter, the last few words fading into sobs.

Rick lets go of his wrists, but Morty doesn't seem to have the strength to hold his arms in place; they fall to his sides, fingers twitching against the sheets as Rick pulls out of him completely. He hears a whine—further protest from Morty—but his complaints are soon silenced when Rick eases him over and onto his knees. Rick settles behind Morty, his cock nestling between his cheeks for the briefest moment before sliding back inside, each inch hugging him tighter than before.

“Mmmm...” Rick sighs, leans over to press his chest against Morty's back, nips at the nape of his neck, the hard ridge of his shoulder. “I'm gonna hurt you s-so good, Morty,” he rasps into his ear, lips tickling the lobe.

Morty tries to stand tall on all fours, can't quite keep himself from trembling beneath Rick's weight. “Y-Y-You b-better, R-Rick, after all th-that t-talk.” He pushes back upon exhale, awkwardly attempts to grind his ass against Rick, urging him on. And for once, Rick realizes he has nothing smart to say.

Instead, he lets his body do the talking; he places a palm between Morty's shoulder blades, shoves his face to the mattress, slips his other hand beneath his hips and starts pounding into him. Morty isn't the only one aching for release.

Whatever Rick had started, Morty can't shut up now. He mumbles into the pillow, chanting "Fuck me, Rick…fuck me…harder…fuck me, Rick…" and Rick laughs, imagines Morty is afraid he'll stop if he falls silent. _No chance in hell of that happening, babe._ His fingers stroke the back of Morty's head, calmly at first before twisting in his hair and pulling. With a gasp, Morty pushes himself up, straightens his arms for support, holding firm as Rick rams against him. Once he's managed to steady himself, he reaches between his legs to stroke his cock, only to let out an exasperated groan when Rick pries his fingers away, forces his hand back to the mattress and covers it with his own. But Rick isn't one to disappoint; he slides the other up Morty's thigh, across his stomach, wrapping his palm snugly around his length. With each thrust, Morty's cock slides through the ring of Rick's fingers, their movements falling in sync, Rick clutching tighter when he feels the telltale twitching, knows Morty won't last much longer.

"C-C'mon—th-that's it, baby." He rubs a finger over Morty's dripping slit. "C-come for me, Morty."

Almost on command, Morty arches his back, and Rick feels the tension rolling along his body, from his calves up to his shoulders, like a wave reaching its crest. When Morty hits his peak for the second time, it tears through every muscle, every inch trembling as he spills into Rick's hand, warm and wet and overflowing. He cries Rick's name again and again, his orgasm slowly subsiding. Rick weaves their fingers together, tightens around Morty's waist and tries to keep him upright, close to his body, as if he might slip from existence otherwise. Morty shivers, causing some of his come to dribble between Rick's fingers. Rick lets Morty's cock slip from his grasp, splits his focus between grinding his hips and keeping the spunk in his hand from spilling. It's no easy feat, but Rick swings his arm around, finds Morty's lips on the first try, is met with a muffled squeal as he tears them open, smears the mess across tightly-clamped teeth. He rumbles a low laugh, amused by Morty's coughs and revulsion at his own taste. Rick hopes to piss him off even more by slapping the sticky hand against his ass before he reaches for his hip again, ready to finish. Fuck, he'd been holding it in all damn morning.

Rick moves roughly against him, on him, inside him; he can't tell exactly what his position is anymore. He's fading fast, losing all perspective yet acutely aware of every sensation: The way his long legs knock against Morty's shorter ones, how their balls jostle together as Rick fucks him, even the slide of his nipples over Morty's sweat-tinged back is enough to send a shiver through him.

“F-Fuck...so good...” Rick can't keep up his frenetic pace, opts to finish with slow, deep thrusts, actually has to bite down on Morty's shoulder to stifle the growl that erupts as he does, because _fuck_ , he can't remember if he's ever felt this good. “S'good...good...” he repeats it, rocks his hips through the last remnants of his orgasm, every muscle rapidly clenching and unclenching. His hand falls from Morty's hip, flops around on the mattress until it finds the smaller one fisted in the sheets, squeezing tightly to anchor himself to the here and now. With all his energy drained, Rick lets his head hang beside Morty's, closes his eyes and breathes in, feels hearts pounding, chests heaving, unable to determine to whom they belong. Everything is a jumble of parts and senses and realities, and all Rick knows for sure is how _amazing_ it felt, how great it _feels_ , to be this close to Morty, still deep inside him, holding on with all they've got.

“Oh, fuck...f-fuck, Morty...s-so fucking...fuck...” And as his breath calms, and the sweat on his skin starts to cool, Rick realizes what he's done.

_Oh fuck._ It hits him hard.

“Oh fuck, Morty. _Fuck._ I fucked up. I— _I_ _fucked up_.” Of course, no matter how many times he breathes those words into Morty's neck, nothing is going to change. Rick is such a fool.

"Get off me, Rick."

Morty bumps his back against Rick several times before the message finally penetrates his stupor.

He pulls out, cock softening with each passing second, and shifts onto his side, allowing Morty to crawl out from under him. Without the boy's warm body as his foundation, Rick crumbles, collapsing onto his back. His arms feel like lead blocks; he doesn't even try to lift them, can hardly manage to turn his head towards Morty as he repeats those same words.

Morty is perched on the edge of the cot, his body angled slightly to the side, glaring at some far-off object.

"You know, Rick, y-you could at least wait—I-I dunno— _a day_ be-before y-y-you start to regret everything."

The bed creaks as he pushes to his feet and stumbles around the room, cursing a mild _Dammit_ when Rick's come begins to leak out of him, the hand pressed to his ass useful only for furthering his disgust.

"M-Morty, I fucked up…I'm sorry, Morty…I-I fucked—fucked up…" He keeps talking, because he isn't good for anything else at the moment. The words, the echo of his voice sound foreign, and Rick knows he should keep quiet, knows it isn't like him to apologize, but he can't help himself— _fuck_ , he hasn't been able to help himself since the beginning. And now he has nothing left but apologies.

"Sh—shut up, Rick. I-I don't wanna hear it." Morty bends, picks up an article of clothing from the floor and wipes his hand on it before stuffing it between his legs.

Rick is pathetic—deplorable—can't even look at Morty anymore, so he just stares up at the ceiling, choking on his grief. "I—I'm s-sorry, Morty. I never should have—I knew it—I-I-I knew I could never be satisfied with one—just one sip. A-And now, I won't be able to stop." He closes his eyes, wishes his mind were as numb as his limbs. "It'll never be the same, M-Morty. I'll—I'll just keep—keep draining you, until you—you've dried up completely. I'm sorry, Morty. I can't—"

The dip of the mattress beside him is so faint he almost doesn't notice, the fingers touching his face so warm and gentle, he doesn't want to acknowledge them. Rick doesn't deserve such kindness, especially not from his grandson, not after all he's done.

"It's OK, Rick. I-I-I don't mind if things stay this way. Be-between us, I mean."

He pries his lids apart to gaze at the face hanging above, Morty's eyes and lips smiling as sweetly as his words. It's too much for Rick.

"Morty, I don't want you to—"

"No, Rick. I-I've been listening t-t-to you talk about what you want th-this whole time. N-Now _you_ listen w-w-when I say th-that _I want this_. I-I-I don't care how—how crazy or—or sick it s-sounds." Morty's voice wavers a little more with each sentence, though his eyes remain sincere and resolute. He leans closer, and Rick catches the smallest hint of a blush on his cheeks. "A-And I-I-I-I want th- _this_ , t-t-too."

The words are hot against Rick's face, but nowhere near as hot as Morty's lips on his own. He kisses him softly, snakes the tip of his tongue inside when Rick's mouth cracks open, fingers moving calmly through his hair. It's a short kiss, yet just enough to sooth the ache inside Rick, make him feel more like himself. For now, at least.

"Cut—cut that shit out, Morty. Y-You're gonna make me hard again." He scowls, tries a little too hard to compensate for how stupid and sappy he'd sounded a few minutes ago. _Like a fucking Morty._ Rick thinks he might die of embarrassment.

Morty grins, raising an eyebrow. "Ohhhh, but I thought you said y-you could go all—"

"Alright, laugh it up, _Morty_." Rick pulls himself into a sitting position, groaning at the strain. "But if you're too sore an—and tired to sit through math class, your parents are gonna ride my ass for it. A-And then, I'm gonna come back and ride _your_ ass twice as haAAAUUURRRd." The post-sex burp stings his throat and ever so slightly tastes of whiskey and semen. Rick suddenly remembers the sticky mess around his cock; his eyes fall to the rag clutched in Morty's hand, and he snatches it away with a grumble once he realizes it's his own shirt. As he dabs at his damp crotch, he hears Morty's voice, soft and distant though right beside him.

"H-Hey, Rick? Do—do you think i-i-it's OK if I sleep here tonight?"

"Whatever, kid. I don't give a fuck." He tosses the shirt away, watches it arc across the room before flopping back onto the bed. "Just—just put some—your fucking clothes on. Y-You know, since no one in th-this house knows how to knock. And—and I'm really not in the mood to make that amnesia ray."

"What?" Morty is already at the other side of the room, t-shirt bunched around his head. "D-Did you say something?" He glances at Rick for a moment before scanning the haphazard clutter for his shorts.

"N-Nothing." With three snaps of his fingers, the light overhead shuts off. Rick pulls the blanket over him, too exhausted to care about putting his own clothes on. In the darkness, Morty shuffles around, cursing when he trips over something.

_Thump!_ "Dammit! Rick, y-y-you know, you should p-probably get rid of this thing. I-I mean, just in case it—it gains intelligence a-a-and tries to kill me or something."

"Or we could keep it around if—for a three—" That's as far as he gets with that thought before Morty's fist weakly connects with his shoulder. Rick chuckles, slides over on the mattress and lifts the blanket for Morty. But the space beside him remains cold and empty.

"That—that's OK, Rick. I think I-I'll sleep on the floor. L-Like you said, i-i-in case someone forgets to knock."

Rick hums deep in his throat, rearranging the covers, telling himself he really wasn't looking forward to waking up with a warm body next to his. Still, he promises he'll install a better lock, maybe some kind of security system, even. In case Morty does decide to climb into bed with him one night. _Whatever_.

He drapes the excess blanket over the side of the cot, lets his arm fall with it, covering the quiet boy below. Rick runs his fingers through Morty's hair, down across his cheek, mumbling as he drifts off, "Just you an' me, Morty. Rick and Morty, one hundred years. One hundred positions, Rick and Morty. Just—just us, for—all the time. 'S you and me…"

He falls asleep to the sound of his voice, the gentle wake of Morty's breath against his fingertips.

[[end]]


End file.
